


secondhand body made with junkyard parts

by armyofbees



Series: over time without a break [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Body Dysphoria, Declarations Of Love, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, M/M, Metaphors, and, everything i write, john's a little not okay in the head but he's working on it, martha is a good sister, more references to jeremy messersmith, oh there's cookies at the end, so that's kinda cute, that seems to be a pattern with this series, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: John thinks he’s crying, but his tears are frozen. He thinks he’s trying to cry anyway. His eyes sting. He’s shaking, and he thinks it might be from the cold. He thinks it might be from spilling his heart. He thinks he might be breaking.--John's got a secondhand body that doesn't feel like his. He's frozen; he's cracking.





	secondhand body made with junkyard parts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! John's Not Doing Great in this, but neither are the other characters, so if you've read the rest of the series, you know the drill. Just be careful while reading. It's all very dark. Title is from [The Commuter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILaRMqzkreg) by Jeremy Messersmith. Enjoy!  
> (You can come yell at me on Tumblr @2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas)

John’s breath fogs up in front of him. It’s warm when he runs through it. His face is numb with the cold.

He pushes himself a little harder, because he wouldn’t be cold if he wasn’t so lazy. He wouldn’t be wanting to go home if he was just…  _ better. _

His legs ache. From the cold, from the effort, he doesn’t care. He keeps running.

He closes his eyes for a moment, tries to picture his goal, tries to imagine what he’s running for. His foot slips on a patch of ice, and he falls. He doesn’t cry out. He doesn’t have the energy. He just sits, stunned. Snow has begun falling. It lands on his shirt, his hair, his eyelashes. He thinks it might freeze his eyes shut. He thinks that would be nice.

He doesn’t stir until the snow has begun melting through his thin jacket, and he’s shaking so hard that he can barely stand. He staggers home, and thinks that he should be running this.

His sister meets him at the door.

“Jack!” she gasps. “Are you alright?” John doesn’t look at her. He can’t bring himself to. “Jack, you’re freezing. Come in and eat dinner.”

John shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He pushes past her, heads for the stairs. He couldn’t finish his run, he shouldn’t eat.

He’s two steps from the top of the stairs when he collapses. His breathing is ragged, and he thinks for a moment that his lungs have turned to ice. He thinks for a moment that they’re melting. He can’t move. He can’t get the rest of the way up the stairs, he can’t even open his mouth to call for help.

He lays there for a while, just breathing. The stairs aren’t comfortable enough to sleep on, so he just closes his eyes and tries not to think.

“Jack?” Martha’s voice asks, hesitant. When he doesn’t reply (because his mouth his frozen shut, because he’s breathing in icicles, because he’ll just breathe out snow), she peers up the stairwell. She gasps. “Jack!”

Her hands are warm on his cold shoulders, and he feels himself melting into them. “Here,” she says, and pulls his arm around her shoulders. She hoists him up and half-drags him into his room.

She grunts as she lays him down on his bed, then sits next to him. “You should really have dinner,” she murmurs.

John shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he croaks.

Martha purses her lips and gives him a look, then stands up. She makes to leave the room, but John says, “Martha, please.”

She turns around and gives him what’s probably supposed to be a smile, but it looks tired and broken. It doesn’t belong on her face. “I’m just getting you some water.”

He nods slowly. When she comes back, she hands him a glass and takes his hand. “So, do you wanna tell me why you were out in  _ that—” _ she gestures to his thin jacket “—in the middle of winter?”

John takes a sip of the water and says, “Running.”

“Just a run?” Martha asks skeptically. He nods. “Run inside, Jack. It’s less likely to give you hypothermia, you know.”

John bites his lip. “Okay,” he says. He won’t. She probably knows it, too, but she sighs and lets it go.

“Why were you running, anyway?” she asks. “You run every day, and you didn’t have breakfast this morning. It’s below freezing today.”

John shrugs. “I just…” he pauses, not sure how to continue. “I just felt like it,” he settles on.

“Yeah, well, it’s not good for you,” Martha chides. Her voice is gentle, like lilies. “Take a break sometime, okay, Jack?”

John nods, but again, he won’t, and she knows it. She shakes her head.

“We’re all worried about you. Do you want me to call Alexander?”

John tenses. Alex doesn’t need to see him like this. Alex doesn’t need to know that he’s like this. Alex doesn’t need to be disgusted with him, like everyone else. “No, I’m fine.”

Martha gives him that shattered smile again, and she stands up. “Get some sleep, okay? You need rest.”

As much as he hates it, she’s right. He’s exhausted. He tries to fight it, tries to stay awake, because the longer he’s idle, the more useless he is. He loses.

He dreams of drowning. He’s surrounded by darkness, by pressure, by cold. His lungs are still frozen, but they’re not melting this time, they’re cracking. Every inhale brings in a rush of cold water, a wave crashing against his insides, destroying. He’s fragile.

He can’t breathe, or doesn’t have to, and it’s kind of nice.

He wakes up with a jolt.

He doesn’t stir for a while, and when he does, it’s to go to the window. The stars are still out, so he opens the window. He climbs through and sits on the sill, feet dangling, watching the night sky. It’s cold but he really doesn’t care.

There’s snow on the ground. He wonders if it would catch him if he fell. He wonders if there’s ice lurking just beneath the surface. He wonders if he would die.

_ John Laurens, _ he thinks. The stars glare back at him, almost accusing. He shrinks under their eyes, but he doesn’t want to hide.  _ What an odd name. _ It doesn’t feel like his.

“John Laurens!” someone calls, and John has to remind himself to respond. Because it isn’t his. But it is, so he really just isn’t himself, is he? “What’re you doing up there?”

John looks down, into the street. In the darkness stands Alex, dark hair loose and messy, bright eyes sharp and curious. “Nothing,” he says, and waves. “Wanna join me?”

“Do I have to climb your hair?” Alex asks, smirking.

John smiles fondly. Happily? Maybe. “You’ve got keys.”

Alex laughs, and there are galaxies packed inside. John is jealous of how easily it comes to Alex. Joy. “A shame,” Alex says, and heads to the door.

John’s still got his eyes on the stars when Alex squeezes in beside him and throws a blanket around both of their shoulders.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Alex says when he takes John’s hand. He leans against John, nestles his head into John’s neck. “You okay?”

John shrugs one shoulder so he doesn’t disturb Alex. “I’m fine.” Alex is like summer. John thinks he’s melting all over again.

After a moment of silence, Alex says, “Your sister called me.”

“Did she?” John asks, and he doesn’t meet Alex’s eyes.

“She told me that I should talk to you about something that happened today.”

“Is that what this is about?” John asks, defensive. Because Alex doesn’t need to worry. Because Alex isn’t involved in this. Because Alex isn’t his  _ handler. _

“Sorta,” Alex says, then tilts his head and kisses John’s neck. “I also missed you, you know.”

John smiles and leans his head away to give Alex more room. “Missed you, too.”

Alex sits up abruptly. John glances at him. “I need to ask what happened today, though,” he says solemnly.

John heaves a sigh that leaves cracks in his lungs. “I went running.”

“You go running every day.”

“Yeah,” John says. “It’s not important.”

Alex nudges him. “Martha wouldn’t’ve called me if it wasn’t important.” When John just shakes his head, Alex says, “We’re worried about you, you know.”

“That’s what Martha said,” John mumbles.

“Just tell me, okay?” Alex asks. “All judgements off the table. Even if you’re like, leaving me for Jefferson.” He elbows John gently.

John manages a weak laugh. “His hair is pretty impressive.” Alex squeezes his hand. John takes a small breath and says, “I didn’t wear a coat while running. It was just… a t-shirt and a light jacket. It was cold.”

“It was below freezing,” Alex murmurs, sounding distressed.

John shrugs. “Yeah. I slipped on some ice and it took me awhile to get up, and when I got home, I couldn’t even get up the fucking  _ stairs.” _ John thinks he’s crying, but his tears are frozen. He thinks he’s trying to cry anyway. His eyes sting. “Martha had to carry me to my room like I was a child.”

“Why?” Alex prompts. “I get that the cold sucks and everything, but it’s not just the cold that can do that.”

John takes a shaky breath and leans into Alex. For warmth, for comfort. So he doesn’t have to look at him. “I don’t eat,” he breathes into Alex’s collarbone. “Haven’t been, at least.” He feels Alex tense beneath him and curls into Alex further. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just—I’m not  _ good enough, _ I’m—”

Alex runs a hand through John’s hair. “Shh.” He kisses John’s forehead. “Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to say if you don’t want.”

John purses his lips and whispers, “I want to.” He doesn’t. But Alex deserves to know, right? The boy with a universe trapped inside him shouldn’t have to worry over something as insignificant as this. He takes a long moment to think, laces his fingers with Alex’s. “I don’t like myself,” he says finally. “I don’t like this—this  _ junkyard _ body that I’m in. I don’t like how it doesn’t really feel like mine. I don’t like how I’m not strong enough, or not skinny enough, or just  _ not enough.” _ He’s shaking, and he thinks it might be from the cold. He thinks it might be from spilling his heart. He thinks he might be breaking.

Alex pulls him close, wraps his arms around John’s shivering form. “It’s okay,” he tells him. “You don’t have to like yourself. I like you. Hell, I love you. I love you and your perfect hair and your stupid smile and the fact that you’re willing to fight for everything. I love that you’re up at two in the morning just to watch the stars. I love that you know me well enough that you’re not even surprised when I show up. I love that you’re you, and that’s more than enough.”

John’s crying now, and his eyes are still stinging, but he doesn’t think it’s so bad. “I love you, too,” he manages, then buries his face in Alex’s shirt.

Alex rubs his back and soothes his tears, pets his hair. “Let’s get cookies,” he says, and John stares up at him.

“It’s two in the morning.”

“Insomnia Cookies,” Alex says, and holds out his phone.

John’s quiet for a long time. He can tell that Alex is getting antsy, nervous. He looks down at the body that isn’t his, looks up at the boy that is. “Okay.”


End file.
